Blood Ties
by fc2001
Summary: It's a fic I wrote years ago, recently come to light again. It's a Dave story.
1. Prologue

"Blood Ties"  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this fan fiction, nor do I own the songs used - they are, in no particular order, I'm No Angel, Beautiful Lie and Easier To Run, by repectively Dido (from No Angel - 2001), Amy Studt (from False Smiles - 2003) and Linkin Park (from Meteora - 2003) This story is a repost. This story has been driving me crazy but it's my pet project, I'm proud of the idea and I wanted it to be the best I could make it. I hope its better, but the only way I'll ever know is if you read and then review. It was originally written years ago, as you might be able to tell, which means that Mark will still appear although he's obviously out the show. I have invented aspects of the characters past. This story deals with some sensitive issues - including child abuse.  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
I'm no angel but please don't think I won't try and try  
  
I'm no angel but does that mean I can't live my life?  
  
I'm no angel but please don't think that I can't cry  
  
I'm no angel but does that mean I won't fly?  
  
The night was cold and dark, but they always were. It just seemed that this night was colder, darker and more miserable than any before. He had never felt this alone. He had had some lonely times in a long 12 years on this earth, but this was the worst.  
  
The screaming had never been as intense as tonight. He hadn't ever seen his dad so angry. He knew his mother was in no fit state to take care of children, but he didn't want to see his dad get that angry with her. She was ill.  
  
He could hear his sister's muffled crying through the paper thin walls, likely curled up on her bed trying to shut out the pain the same way he was. And somewhere below him, there was a continual pacing. His brother, Andy, still downstairs, still worrying.  
  
But he couldn't move. His muscles were frozen and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the night unfold. He doubted that as long as he lived he would forget the look on his father's face as he turned and left and the shiver that had passed unbidden down his spine as the door slammed shut violently behind him. 


	2. Face To Face

Chapter Two: Face To Face  
  
"There's a sadness that they don't see,  
  
When you come to me with your sorrows  
  
It's not enough for you to cry  
  
Cause you don't know why it still hurts  
  
I know we've been here a thousand times  
  
With your past full of lies its still there  
  
A constant struggle to find yourself  
  
But I know that I can't help at all,"  
  
27th February 2001. It was a day like any other. He couldn't say it was a particularily good day, but he was working on a 3:1 save to kill ratio, which considering they'd already dealt with 2 car crashes and a classroom explosion was OK. It was now just after 7:30, and he was approximately halfway through his shift.   
  
"Multiple victim RTA!"  
  
"ETA?"  
  
Someone shot back automatically as the department kicked into action. He'd already seen two deaths as the result of careless driving today. Were all the idiots on the road today or what?  
  
"Pulling up!"  
  
Kerry's voice was alarmingly falsetto over the call of the sirens as the rigs arrived. A sharp elbow in his ribs made him follow his boss outside. There were three rigs in all, blazing away in the relative murk of the Chicago dusk.  
  
"Dave, with me,"  
  
Kerry yelled. She still kept an eye on him at all times, just waiting for him to screw up. He moved to obey her barked orders, falling into step beside the gurney. He looked down at the patient for the first time, half-listening to the bullet. A bolt of recognition hit him and he froze. Too stunned to move. Kerry turned and questioned him silently, as the wailing sirens calmed and the gurney's entered the hospital. He remained frozen even as the activity died away and he was left alone in a now silent ambulance bay.  
  
*****  
  
"What was that all about?"  
  
Kerry's crutch squeaked slightly on the lino behind him. He wheeled, suddenly nervous.  
  
"What...?"  
  
His reverie broke with a start. He almost hadn't noticed his inactivity.  
  
"That RTA. I've never known you turn down a decent bloody trauma, usually...."  
  
He braced himself for another stereotype. It was all he was to them. A caricature. A figure of ridicule. Did he even really exist to them? He noticed the lack of anger in Weaver's voice. It sounded more concerned and that worried him.   
  
"I'm off my game, we all have these days,"  
  
"Not well?"  
  
His boss questioned. It became clear that she'd seen something he hadn't intended in his expression on viewing the patient.  
  
"Just don't push O.K?"  
  
For whatever reason, something in him snapped.He didn't storm off, didn't want a scene. He had to remain calm. This was an event he could rationalise given time. He went to try and find one place he could have space to think. Nothing had troubled him this much since he had moved to County. Life before County, he had pretty much denied its existence. He had left all that behind, his old life, who he had been in college, his high school years. The person in the memories which ad now returned seemed alien to him, someone else living his life. Those had been the most screwed up years of his life, that he had a living reminder of in his son, now nearly five. That wasn't who he was now. Now - he was confiedent, settled, together, and, yes, arrogant. That was the person his colleagues saw - was it the real him or simple someone he'd created to mask the pain?  
  
The stairs up to the roof were cold, dark and lonely, perfect for his contemplation. The concrete was freezing through his navy scrubs, a welcome bite of reality. His elbows rested comfortably on his knees and his head fell heavy into his hands. He knew Kerry had been right - usually he wouldn't turn down a decent bloody trauma as she had put it. Usually he could sweeap aside personal matters with a sarky comment until his shift ended and he could face whatever it was alone. This was different. It was then he realised he'd never asked how the patient was. Then he questioned, and this realisation was more painful, did he really care?   
  
"Thought I might find you up here,"  
  
His head came up from his hands just long enough to glimpse the brunette. Abby, always on hand in a crisis.  
  
"Do you know where everyone goes to be alone?"  
  
His voice was cold. Abby didn't seem to care.  
  
"I spend a lot of time seeking alone time remember?"  
  
She sat down beside him, close enough that their knees touched but no more.   
  
"Do you want to tell me what that was about earlier? I thought Weaver was going to lose it,"  
  
He shook his head, pointedly keeping his eyes turned away.  
  
"You don't ever react like that. I know you well enough to know that's out of character,"  
  
Out of character? How could she even begin to judge out of character for him? He willed her to go, silently, needing to be alone. 


	3. You Never Asked

Chapter 3: "You Never Asked"  
  
"He's going to live you know,"  
  
He shrugged. The nurse continued, regardless of this apparent apathy.   
  
"Thought it might be important to you,"  
  
He wanted to tell her to go away, but found he didn't have the heart to.  
  
"You assumed it was,"  
  
He said slowly, delibarately. Out of a corner of his eyes, he saw her shrug. She was clearly struggling with words in the silence that followed.   
  
"You want an explanation?"  
  
He pre-empted, defensively. Feet shuffled nervously against the concrete to his left.  
  
"No,"  
  
She answered eventually, hesitantly.  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
He challenged coldly, never moving his head from his hands or looking directly at her.   
  
"Because…"  
  
The sentence started positively, then stalled abruptly when words failed her again. She wanted him to talk, that's why she was here. Morbid curiousity. She couldn't get over how cold he was being.   
  
"Abby, tell me what good talking ever did anyone?"  
  
The disdainful tone in his voice was all too clear, and the fact that he spoke the truth as he knew it was cutting. He didn't have anymore to say, but she wouldn't go, and the pressure was virtually unbearable. Was she trying to force him to react? To do or say something he would regret? It certainly appeared that way.  
  
"He's someone I thought I left behind,"  
  
He hoped the cryptic half-truth would appease her and she'd go, but she was more stubborn, more determined that he had given her credit for. She moved not a muscle.  
  
"So you knew him?"  
  
There was a note in her voice that he suspected meant she was pleased with herself for finding a chink in his armour. He didn't want to answer, felt he had said enough to allay curiousity, more than he was willing, already. But he knew he wouldn't get away with that.  
  
"In a former life,"  
  
He replied eventually. And it was. A whole lifetime away from the person he was, yet an integral part of him too. Another life he had thought was in the past, a memory, yet couldn't be more real or more present. He shifted position, lifted his head and crossed his arms defensively instead. It should have been a warning not to say any more, but he heard words in the silence, words forming questions in her head he didn't need her to ask.  
  
"Friend? Relative? Ex?"  
  
She laughed nervously, one hand on her throat, the other clutching fingerfuls of excess material around the knees of her ill-fitting scrubs. There was a simple answer, he knew, her nervy uncomfortable body language on the periphery of his vision, but he couldn't say it. Not to himself and certainly not to her. He had closed the door on that section of his life when he'd left for college, and all this had pushed it precipitously ajar again.  
  
"Why are you pushing?"  
  
The words came out tense and frustrated. Why was she? They weren't friends, not even close. He guessed she just couldn't help herself in trying to save other people, help the hopeless.  
  
"Because you need to be pushed,"  
  
The second hand joined the other on her knee and she squared her shoulders, the reply terse but honest.  
  
"Not by you,"  
  
Instinct shot back the reponse before he could think.  
  
"Then who?"  
  
She was a quick as he was, as sharp. She never missed a beat.  
  
"He's my brother, O.K?"  
  
He faced her full on for the first time, to see the full impact of his words. Shock, then an almost appealing confusion, flitted over her face, before she settled on a suitably neutral expression. To be honest, he was more taken aback by his own honesty than by her reaction.  
  
"The patient, he's my elder brother,"  
  
He clarified, a chill gripping him now this was open. This asked more questions than it answered.  
  
"I didn't know you..."  
  
"Had a brother? Yeah, and a sister too,"  
  
He finished her sentence calmly, more than a hint of sarcasm in the tone.  
  
"You never said,"  
  
It was Abby's turn to sound defensive, as if she thought she should have known, should have asked before now. She had no reason to. He hadn't hidden his past, it hadn't been as issue until today.  
  
"Nobody ever asked,"  
  
No, and he was glad of it in many ways. That no one was close enough to bother him. It was partly a defence mechanism, a facade to seal in his own painful reality and keep others out. And it had been working well, until now. 


	4. Sudden Freefall

Chapter 4: Sudden Freefall  
  
"It's easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb"  
  
He'd expected her to walk away, curiousity satisfied and leave him alone. But as she absorbed his last words, her eyes finally lifted and met his and he guessed he'd underestimated her. He had a habit of that, couldn't help seeing worst of people. He was just a tad more jaded than even he admitted.  
  
"Don't you have work to get to?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
She shot back instantly. He still wasn't sure whether her presence was a comfort or an irritation and currently sat it somewhere between the two.   
  
"Fair point,"  
  
He conceded absentmindedly.  
  
"They'll cope,"  
  
She added.  
  
"How are the others? The family he hit?"  
  
His brother had always bee good at that, hurting families. He hoped these innocents caught up in his brothers life would escape unharmed.  
  
"Minor injuries mostly,"  
  
She answered, and he was relieved. Andy hadn't managed to smash another family to pieces.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Though he wasn't sure he wanted to know, something in him needed to know what twist of fate had brought his brother back into his life.  
  
"Why not ask him yourself?"  
  
She probably thought the suggestion a helpful one, but the idea repulsed him. He wasn't ready, not yet.   
  
"Trust me, that is not a good idea,"  
  
Abby sighed wearily, and he thought maybe at last she was tapped. But he was wrong.   
  
"It looks like a run of the mill MVA, someone wasn't looking where they were going properly…why are you scared of him?"  
  
The question came out of left field and knocked any response from his lips. Her gaze bore into him, her scrutiny close enough to hurt.   
  
"I'm not,"  
  
He tried to swallow the stammer in his voice as he replied, and cursed himself silently when he couldn't.The denial came easily, too easily. Lying was one thing in life he'd gotten very good at.  
  
"Well, if it was my brother…"  
  
Abby did have a brother. Eric, who was as screwed up as she was if not more. But this was way out of her depth, way beyond her understanding of family ties.  
  
"I gave up considering that man family years ago,"  
  
When he signed up for college, to be precise. The viciousness struck home with more force than he had expected or intended. He couldn't expect her to understand. For all her family was screwed up, she still had it at least.  
  
"Oh,"  
  
What else could she say? There was no excuse that didn't sound utterly lame, pathetic beside the passion, the chilling anger in his tone.  
  
"I shouldn't have said that,"  
  
He conceded, trying to salve some of the sting from his words and only partially succeeding. She had pulled back as if someone had slapped her.  
  
"Why? Why don't you want…?"  
  
She struggled to decide which question sounded least tactless. He saved her effort by cutting in.  
  
"You never need to know my sordid story, Abby, even I try to avoid it,"  
  
Every day of his life, he ran from it, and he was making it until today. The bitterness in his tone wasn't for show, it ran more than skin deep.  
  
"But…"  
  
She began to protest. He cut her off. She didn't need to know, and he didn't need her to know.  
  
"You're better off without this, really,"  
  
He repeated to press his point home, allow her to keep some distance and run while she still could. Adter a loaded moment of silence, Abby got up and walked away. He continued to listen for her footsteps long after they'd gone, lest she come back and get involved again. It could only bring her down, and he didn't need that on his conscience. His own downfall, however, he'd learned to handle a long time ago. 


	5. In A Former Life

Chapter 5: In A Former Life  
  
A flash, a picture from another time. From another life, long buried. A hospital much like this, only he wasn't a doctor. He was a nobody watching his older brother weave a web of lies to suffocate their family. He stood at the end of the bed, Erica a tiny figure against the pillows, her face bloodied and turning a dull purple, her arm in a sling. Her eyes were still dazed, misty, but above all scared.  
  
Andy was on a charm offensive, sweet-talking to young female doctor, a square jawed redhead with untarnished pale skin. A knot tightened in his stomach as he watched the medic fall hook, line and sinker for every word that left the snake-like tongue. He was 13, not quite grown out of the scrawny child he had been, awkward in his own skin. He didn't dare say anything, couldn't bring himself to challenge Andy, so instead helplessly he implored the medic to notice something, to say something.  
  
He screwed up his courage, knowing that confrontation would bring Andy's wrath down on him, but unwilling to see his little sister so afraid again. When the medic left, Andy's demeanour changed.  
  
"You're a liar,"  
  
Andy's head snapped up, eyes fixed him in that uncompromising, lethal glare. He pulled himself straight and squared his shoulders.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"You lied to the doctor,"  
  
The words were someone elses, but it was his voice.  
  
"What did you want? The truth? You want to be thrown into care?"  
  
The words and the impact came together and knocked the breath from his lungs. Strong fingers gripped him round the throat, bruising sensitive skin. He struggled to draw air into constricted lungs. Andy held him, his entire body tense, until in pure desperation he shook his head.  
  
"Then keep it shut,"  
  
He fell forwards to the floor, fingering his bruised throat, chest heaving to replace lost oxygen. Andy scraped the plastic chair against the lino and sat by Erica's bed, calm as you like. There had been no raised voices, no obvious signs of violence. But he could feel the vice like grip as he could hear Erica's screams in their tiny apartment.  
  
The scene was gone as suddenly as it appeared. He was surprised to find a hand subconsciously raised to his throat, still able to visualise the red welts left by his brother's fingers. Why had no one ever noticed?  
  
There had to medical records. Did someone, anyone, not recognise them? Mind you, they were forgettable kids. He was a scrawny, average, olve skinned youngster, dark haired and dark eyes, quiet. Erica was diminuitive, vulnerable, paler skinned with blue-green eyes and plain brown hair straight to her shoulders. Nothing that marked them out from any other accident prone children. So they were forgettable. Forgotten.  
  
He hadn't ever forgotten any child he had treated. He had an empathy with frightened children he was sure his colleagues must have noticed. Suspected abuse raised his hackles, he fought for those kids, determined they wouldn't be forgotten, anonymous silent victims as he had been.  
  
He placed two hands flat against the glass and rested his forehead between them, fighting the familiar fist forming low in his stomach. He had come down here in a righteous rage, bitterly wanting to have this out with his brother. But the flashback had stolen his rage, his strength and replaced it with fear.  
  
"Hey,"  
  
A hand came down on his shoulder, the muscles tight and knotted beneath the skin. He jumped, though the size and weight of the hand identified its owner as female. Instinct he guessed. Deep rooted survival instinct, vestigial from his childhood.  
  
"You OK?"  
  
He shifted his weight away from the glass, drew his hands into his sides, rolling his left shoulder to remove the knots. Only then did he, slowly and delibarately, meet the brunettes eyes and answer with a deeply insincere  
  
"Fine,"  
  
She knew he was lying, but he walked away before another word was uttered.  
  
There was only one other person who knew Andy was his brother and it was her. That knowledge burdened him more than if it had only been him involved. He wondered what she thought of him, what she thought the reasons behind the animosity were. He wondered if she'd ever given the information a second thought since she'd pushed him hard enough to break his wall of silence earlier.  
  
Weren't many people who broke that wall. They usually didn't care enough. Erica was the only other person and he hadn't seen her since he was 18. Where was his baby sister? Had she could through her ordeal in better shape that him or had Andy managed to destroy her whole life? He was shamed that he had deserted her, but the flight instinct was primal and he could never bring himself to return. 


	6. Happy?

Chapter 6: Happy?  
  
"What the hell did he do to you?"  
  
He started, spilling the coffee over his hands. Although the liquid itself was cold, it burned the way it always had. He recovered himself quickly, and faced her.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That little scene outside his room?"  
  
"That was nothing,"  
  
He tried to dismiss, walking over to the coffee machine for a refill.  
  
"Coffee?"  
  
He asked idly, hoping to derail her train of thought. For a moment, he thought he'd succeeded. But she soon gathered herself, and with a curt shake of her head, she rounded on him again.  
  
"Ordinarily, I wouldn't care. But he's my patient, and if there's something I should know…"  
  
Clever, Abby, very clever, make this professional. Make it official. He formulated his answer carefully, controlling exactly how much she knew and when.  
  
"Andy destroyed my childhood, Abby, that's what this is about,"  
  
"Destroyed? How?"  
  
She faltered at his bluntness, the frankness of his tone. Her stance softened, her shoulders rounded and her hands fell to her sides.  
  
"My mother was an alcoholic, and just short of my 13th birthday, Andy became our legal guardian."  
  
He paused, breath caught at the thought of his mother, pitiful creature as he remembered her being. He couldn't hate her, but could never begin to forgive her.  
  
"Andy is a bully, Abby, an alpha male. Power went straight to his head,"  
  
It was clear as the day it happened, the first time Andy had raised his fists, the day it all changed. He didn't remember why it had happened, but the bruises were as vivid as they had been, the feeling of being completely helpless to another's will still had the crystal clarity. He watched as the realization dawned on his fiery, petite colleague, as horror filled her eyes to overflowing.  
  
"He hit you?"  
  
Her voice was small, questioning, as if the very idea was somehow unfathomable to her.  
  
"He took everything we had, Erica and I, every inch of dignity and self-respect. It wasn't the physical side I couldn't bear,"  
  
It was not having a way out. It was the shame of being weak. It was listening to his sister crying herself to sleep and being too number to do a thing for her. He paused a second and took in the expression in her eyes. It was a reflection of what he expected lay in his own – a hybrid of disgust and confusion.  
  
"No,"  
  
She tried to sympathise, but found words failed her.  
  
"I tried to protect her and got shot down in flames, so I saved myself,"  
  
And still that shamed him. Abby was rendered speechless by his controlled revelation.  
  
"So there. Now you know. My sordid past, my life laid bare. Happy?"  
  
The sarcastic question was unnecessary, he knew as soon as he said it. The nurse flared momentarily, irritated perhaps by his defensive nature, but calmed almost instantly.  
  
"Well, it certainly explains a lot,"  
  
Other sentences seemed futile, so instead she left the conversation only half-finished and feeling strangely empty. She walked back, with purpose, towards Andy's room. Her purpose though was muddled, mixed in her with a form of indignant rage – both for her colleague and at herself for letting these 3 hours become such a disaster. 


	7. Liars

Author's note: Well, I guess waiting for my stories is like buses - you wait forever for an update, and two come along at once! Sorry about that, it's a busy old life being at University. The only reason I've updated now is that I'm making a concerted effort to avoid studying (that and doesn't inspiration strike at all the wrong moments in life?) I hope that it still makes sense, please let me know if not!   
  
Chapter 7: Liars  
  
"Hello again, Miss Lockhart,"  
  
Her heart was heavy, and she was unusually filled with a trepidation that chilled her.  
  
"Andy,"  
  
She acknowledged him sharply, snatching up the chart almost viciously.   
  
"So Miss Lockhart, Abby, can I call you Abby?"  
  
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the paper in front of her and away from the patient.  
  
"What's your relationship with baby brother? I assume you know,"  
  
"He's a friend,"  
  
Her sentences were delibarately clipped and final. She wasn't sure just how true her answer was, but it was the easiest.  
  
"How much has this "friend" told you?"  
  
"More than enough,"  
  
"His side of the story,"  
  
Andy surmised. He was bright, keen but cold. She didn't want to be having this conversation.  
  
"Sounded pretty convincing to me. He wouldn't lie,"  
  
She tried to stop her voice from rising, attempted not to sound too impassioned.   
  
"He might embellish,"  
  
Andy was trying to provoke a reaction, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting one.  
  
"Andy. I've seen domestic abuse in my time. It's rarely the victims who lie,"  
  
She stated the blatantly obvious, as firmly as possible but avoided any hint of anger in her voice. She could be as cold and brittle as Andy. something she intended to prove.   
  
"He was 13 and defiant. He had spirit and he refused to behave,"  
  
He sounded desperate to excuse his actions, to justify what he did. Abby refused to bite, refused to rise.  
  
"So you decided you'd break him by beating it out of him? Looks like you failed,"  
  
Andy's eyes were blank, shocked by her defiance. He had failed. He hadn't broken his brother, he'd made him stronger.  
  
"If he wanted to, he could still have you prosecuted you know,"  
  
"And you'd be the first to support that wouldn't you?"  
  
Andy recovered himself enough to respond to her challenge. He didn't look a haunted man, or threatened by the thought of retribution. Chillingly, he looked normal.  
  
"If it helped him then yes,"  
  
Her chin was up, eyes proud and blazing, but aside from Andy's gaze. She hardly knew him but instinctively hated him.  
  
"You sure you're only friends? Your eyes tell a different story,"  
  
She was aware she was under scrutiny and it felt cold. She couldn't hide from the suggestive tone, it caught her with a worrying force.  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
She fired back quickly, without faltering.  
  
"Well, if he's anything like me, he'll be able to appreciate a pretty woman,"  
  
On anyone elses tongue, that would be a compliment. On Andy's, it sent a shock down her spine that made her shiver.   
  
"He's nothing like you,"  
  
"You defend his honour so well, but why?"  
  
"Because you are a violent tempered, over-bearing, control freak who beat up on kids. He, for all he's egotistical, is a nice person."  
  
She didn't even pause to question why she was so quick to his defence, why she was involved. It seemed irrelevant now she was, but would undoubtedly appear odd. Even he was probably questioning her motives. She saved people to avoid being saved. That's the pop psychology explanation, anything deeper she worked hard to avoid. The vitriol rolled off her tongue before she could stop it.  
  
"Weren't you ever taught it isn't nice to judge?"  
  
"Yeah. I can't help it if I say what I think. It's a flaw,"  
  
The tone dripped self-deprecation sarcasm, and bit hard, deep into the rooms suffocating atmosphere.  
  
"So you're judge, jury and executioner? My death warrant should already be signed,"  
  
"You did a fairly good job of making sure that somewhere it is,"  
  
"It's not my fault he never got over it,"  
  
"He never got over it because he still thinks it was his fault,"  
  
"You ever establish it wasn't?"  
  
"It's never the victims fault."  
  
The exchange left her breathless, she shocked herself at how angry she was. Her clinical tone bit hard but had no effect on the black-hearted patient. The same blood flowed in his veins as in Daves. It barely seemed possible that brothers could be this disparate.  
  
"That's what he is to you now. A victim? What was he before?"  
  
"If you'll excuse me, I have other patients,"  
  
She exited quickly and smoothly to avoid any further confrontation. She didn't even want to imagine the smirk on Andy's face, smug and self-satisfied. She didn't want him to improve. He barely deserved her time, let alone their effort. 


	8. Balance of Power

Authors Notes: Apologise for the delay in updating this. Also, apologise now for any medical inaccuracies or anything. I'm not a doctor nor would I ever claim to have any knowledge of the medical profession beyond a basic first aid certificate.   
  
Balance Of Power  
  
Andy had been in the department for a little over 4 hours now. He checked his watch to confirm and it blinked 12:36am at him. He hadn't gotten any further than the door of the exam room, before becoming a coward again.   
  
The balance of power in their relationship should have shifted, but it hadn't. He was still cowed by the man in the bed. His brother looked older, ill. Covered in cuts and bruises. He couldn't muster any sympathy though. He was still unmistakably Andy. Still had a cold glint in his eye, a surface expression of concealed nastiness.  
  
This time, he opened the door and stepped through it. The figure on the bed blinked and looked up at him, a smile half-curving his lips as he recognised his visitor.  
  
"Well, if it isn't my darling little brother,"  
  
"Andy,"  
  
His own tone was bitter, clipped. The word even tasted sour.  
  
"How are you? It must have been...."  
  
"13 years, I've counted,"  
  
He had left home at 18 to go to college. He was now 31.  
  
"You made it I see,"  
  
"You were never going to stop me,"  
  
There was a hint in his tone of the determination he'd always had. Even when no more than a battered heap, he'd been defiant. Andy couldn't take his dreams away, unless he allowed him to, and he was strong enough not to let that happen.   
  
"I was never trying to. You had brains and I didn't. What can I say?"  
  
"I figured sorry would be a good place to start,"  
  
He kept his distance. He didn't trust himself or his brother. How did someone now so feeble hurt him so badly? His vision was crystal clear with the absolute clarity of hate.  
  
"After all this time, what good would sorry do?"  
  
"It would be a start,"  
  
He was tense, awkward, poised to either attack or run. He was reacting the way he always had and that scared him.  
  
"A start to what? Reconciliation?"  
  
"It might start to make amends for what you did,"  
  
"What I did? I kept two unruly teenagers under control in a household that was cracking up faster than I could repair it,"  
  
Rage boiled under, prickled at his skin as the blood ran hot in his veins, but deep down he was still scared. He was still the little brother. He couldn't shake that mentality.  
  
"You beat us half to death,"  
  
He blurted, then watched as Andy's face twisted into an amused smirk.  
  
"Now, now, little bro. I exerted discipline, that's all,"  
  
"You weren't our guardian, we weren't your responsibility,"  
  
He had wondered over the years where his dad had gone and why he'd never tried to help them.   
  
"Your guardian was an alcoholic and an unfit mother,"  
  
Andy winced as he tried to move. His voice was strained but still he was trying to be dominant. Dave noticed the change in his breathing, the differing patterns on the monitor.  
  
"Yeah, but she didn't hit us!"  
  
He didn't, couldn't, hate his mother. She was a helpless, pathetic creature. She was ill. He had rationalised his feelings for his mother a long time ago, and only felt pity for her.  
  
"She just watched me do it instead,"  
  
He had to force himself not to turn away, bitterly aware of the truth in Andy's words. She'd cowered from her eldest son too, her eyes glazed.  
  
"Mom wasn't like you,"  
  
He fired back. His mother hadn't been like Andy. She was a good person at heart, she'd just been broken by a life that had finally become too much to bear. He wondered if she'd ever found the answers she sought at the bottom of the bottle or simply more questions.  
  
"No,"  
  
Andy agreed, pausing briefly, his breathing shallow.  
  
"She wasn't from my school of discipline,"  
  
Andy finished. Discipline? The coldness in Andy's stare told him he did actually believe that. That he didn't see what had been wrong with his behaviour.  
  
"Discipline does not usually involve concussion, fractured ribs or cigarette burns on a 12 year olds arms. God knows what else went on...."  
  
His temper was flaring, defiant and bitter, he was glad that at least now the playing field was semi-even. Andy's colour rose.  
  
"I never touched her. Not like that,"  
  
The denial came too easily. He watched the heartbeat slow, barely aware of it.  
  
"How do I know that? I wasn't there all the time and in the years I was she never once came crying to me. She dealt with her own pain, "  
  
"She always was stronger than you,"  
  
And with that sentence, he just knew. He felt awful. Salt had just been poured into raw wounds and he couldn't bear to hear details. Andy picked up on his distress as easily as he always had.  
  
"What? You couldn't protect her? Truth was, if you'd tried you wouldn't be here now,"  
  
"She wasn't asking for it, she didn't deserve it!"  
  
He reeled at Andy's twisted sense of reality, his selective memory. There wasn't remorse anywhere in his brother's soul, and likely never would be either.  
  
"But you did?"  
  
Andy's tone was cruel and mocking. He was still a bully even in his weakened physical state.  
  
"Do you feel any remorse?"  
  
He knew the answer virtually before he asked the question. He caught the calculated gaze with his own pained, victimised one. He was being submissive. Still.  
  
"What for?"  
  
It was a cruel put down, a degradation.  
  
"It felt damned good to leave. I had fun in college; I was no angel and never have been since. You'd be disappointed in me. I was well adjusted till that point. Till Dad left I was a normal kid. So was she,"  
  
" Bet she's normal now - kids, husband. What's your excuse?"  
  
Still he was demeaned. He could fight back now. However uselessly, the ammo was there.  
  
"How does it feel that now I have the power? I could control whether you live or die and there's nothing you can do,"  
  
The words reverberated off the walls, and buried themselves deep into Dave's conscience. Andy fell silent, struggling for breath, hands clasped on his chest, his whole posture screaming 'hammy death scene'. After a moment, his eyes closed and he fell limp onto the bed.   
  
But Dave did nothing. He froze, every medical instinct screaming at him to help, every muscle tensed against the instinct. He may have wished his brother dead, but he hadn't meant it. Not yet, you bastard, there's much more to be said.   
  
He just watched, as the monitor slowed and eventually read just a flat line, the room filled with its incessant warning shriek. What kind of brother, what kind of person was he that he could just let Andy die?  
  
Maybe, if Andy died, some of the pain the shame he carried would go with him. He closed his own eyes, unwilling to see anymore, unable to think clearly, unable to move. 


End file.
